


All My Burning Bridges

by Hiiraeth (V_eritas)



Series: CritRole Collection [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU as of ep 110, Canon relationships & (one-sided) crushes, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Morally Ambiguous Character, Past Astrid/Caleb Widogast, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Warning: Trent Ikithon, based on that one crazy-awesome tumblr theory that astrid is poisoning trent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24725218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_eritas/pseuds/Hiiraeth
Summary: It can't last, of course. There's too much time between them, too much pain - too many scars. Still, for a moment Caleb watches Astrid walk alongside the Mighty Nein and dares tohope.---Or, the one where the Mighty Nein reluctantly adopt a Scourger, and the Scourger reluctantly adopts them. As you do.
Relationships: Astrid/Caleb Widogast
Series: CritRole Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551961
Comments: 91
Kudos: 147





	1. Bren

**Author's Note:**

> Sanctuary,
> 
> My land is bare of chattering folk;  
> The clouds are low along the ridges,  
> And sweet's the air with curly smoke  
> From all my burning bridges.
> 
> Dorothy Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gen fic with allusions to canon love interests and past relationships. Feel free to read all of it as gen if thats your cup of tea. This is, first and foremost, a story about healing.
> 
> Set in a nebulous timeline around lvl 11/12 for the M9.

B R E N

The first time Bren creates fire without the aid of a tinder box or firestone, he is eleven years old. The flame is bright and cheerful, a tiny little sun that is all his own. He laughs. Lifts his arm, spins around, jumps- and the little flame follows. Bren is utterly mesmerized. 

He runs into the family home on a whim, crying out, "Father, look-" 

His father looks up, blanches, and quite on instinct douses his son with the contents of the family's washing bowl. 

They laugh about it, later. It was Leofric who had gifted Bren the spell book, and once he understands what has happened he heaps praise onto his boy. They spend the evening next to the hearth with Una, where Bren tries to explain the process of learning the spell to his adoring parents with all the helpless enthusiasm of a child in love. 

(Astrid casts her first spell at thirteen, and watches the frost that coats her hands dispassionately. She did not enjoy the process of studying, but she knows an opportunity to get out of Blumenthal when she sees it.)

* * *

C A L E B

It starts in the Greying Wildlands, on one of the coldest days of the year. The Mighty Nein trudge through the snow on feet that ache from the cold, and wish for nothing more than an inn to warm their bones. There is no such reprieve, however, as they have only just left Rexxentrum and still have an hour or two to go before nightfall. Only Jester is in truly good spirits, which probably has a thing or two to do with how well she handles cold.

Caleb himself remembers long, cold winters huddled up before the fire after a day in the field with his parents, and loses himself to recollecting days long gone by as they walk on. He is interrupted only when the snow becomes too deep for Veth to walk through, and she takes refuge on his shoulders for the first time in months. She is a warm, steady presence, so he does not mind the extra weight.

The walk goes from uncomfortable to deeply unpleasant in a matter of seconds, when the snow beneath their feet shifts and a massive wall of ice bursts twenty feet into the sky. Ice breaks against their uncovered faces and hands from the force of the eruption as they are thrown to the ground. Caleb scrambles away, choking. It’s as tall as his Wall of Fire, and when he raises his hands he sees his fingers have come away black from the cold.

Veth pops out of the snow screaming with anger and firing her crossbow into thin air. Caleb grits his teeth and works himself up to his feet, forcing his aching fingers through the gesture for _Fire Bolt_. Yasha bursts out of the deep snow a few feet away with her sword at the ready, but everyone else is on the other side of the wall. Something flashes through the cold air behind them, and on the other side of the wall he can hear Fjord shout.

“Come at us, you c _owards,_ ” Veth growls, and Caleb grits his teeth. Yasha grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him behind her – which seems sensible, all things considered – and together they wait for their enemy to materialize.

It appears at Veth’s side a second later, letting out an unholy screech. Its insect-like claws rake across Veth’s shoulder as its pincers snap at her face, and Veth rolls through the snow to dodge its sweeping tail. It strikes Caleb against the back of his knee instead, making it buckle, and his fire bolt flies wide. Yasha roars in anger and slashes at the creature’s back as it passes by, carving deep gashes in its shell.

The creature spins and savages Yasha, sinking its fangs in Yasha’s shoulder. Yasha screams. Veth fires another bolt, which sinks into the creature’s shoulder with a wet _thunk_. It screeches and lets go of Yasha, just in time for Caleb’s second fire bolt to explode in its face. It recoils, but the flames seem to brush across its scales harmlessly.

The creature screeches furiously and spreads its peculiar arms wide. The floor underneath cracks and breaks and-

“ _CALEB!”_

There’s a moment of white-hot pain as Caleb is caught between the first ice wall and the second that erupts from the ground. It is so cold that it burns his skin. His hand instinctually finds his jar of guano and he manages to say the correct words. A moment later his Fire Ball blasts the newest wall open to his left, and he falls to the ground panting.

In a flash he sees the creature has thrown itself at Veth, completely unharmed by this fireball. Veth’s response time is almost eerie as she dodges the first two blows, but then the creature’s tail comes spinning around and tosses her to the ground. Yasha lands another two, three blows, and slowly but surely the creature is starting to show signs of wear and tear.

The others still haven’t appeared from around the wall, so Caleb surmises they’re probably fighting another of these creatures. He’s not worried, but it means they can’t count on immediate backup. He grabs the required components for Cat’s Ire and a moment later the spectral shape of a cat’s claw grapples the ice demon and _squeezes_. Veth’s bolt pierces its eye and a second buries itself in the thorax.

The creature stumbles away from her, clawing its own face. Just then there’s a massive _crack_ of power on the other side of the wall, and a moment later the second creature come sailing through, landing painfully hard on the ground. Its mate rushes towards it and together they face the Mighty Nein, roaring in fury.

Magic tickles at the back of Caleb’s skull. He hears a familiar cry, before his vision whites out. If not for the crackle of lightning he might have thought he’d gone unconscious.

When his vision slowly clears, the two demons lie broken in the snow like dead branches.

The smell of ozone is overwhelming and cloys in the back of Caleb’s throat like smoke. Behind them, he knows, stands another mage. 

Beauregard is the first to recover. She spins towards the strange mage, her own lightning-laced fists held defensively before her, and one by one the rest of the Nein follow. Instinctively, Caleb takes a step back and reaches into a pocket to finger the familiar jar of molasses that has become a standard part of his equipment. Like the calm before the storm they wait, eager to see whose side the mage is on.

Mages have their own signature flavor of magic. This bolt of lightning raises goose bumps on Caleb’s skin and conjures up the memory of laughter in the dark. His stomach lurches.

The mage steps forward with a slight swagger to her step. She’s not tall, exactly, but she stands with poise and confidence. Her fur-lined hood and cloak disguise the narrow shoulders he knows lie underneath. Caleb’s heart skips a beat, but a part of him is not surprised to see her blonde hair when she pushes her hood back, to see her sharp, sharp eyes, and that long, awful scar running down the side of her face. The sun warms her hair in a golden glow, and Caleb thinks she looks as regal as she did as a girl.

Astrid takes a moment to look them all over, cataloging their faces and clothes and injuries. Caleb stands nailed to the ground. He wants to hold her, shake her, ask if she’s all right. He wants her to leave, and erase the faces of his friends from her memory. He can do neither. He’s breathing too quickly. The only concrete feeling he can muster up is that he’s glad he visited her in Rexxentrum, so that this, if nothing else, is not their first reunion.

A hand brushes his pant leg. Veth. “Caleb? Is that..?”

He nods. They have seen her face, of course. Her face as she used to be, all those years ago. Veth has a keen memory.

“You’re Astrid,” Beauregard says. Jester’s hands fly up to her mouth.

At Caleb’s side, Fjord and Caduceus stiffen. Caduceus’s hand falls on to Caleb’s shoulder and Fjord steps forward to shield him if necessary. The gratitude that washes over Caleb is nothing short of embarrassing. He clutches Veth’s hand and takes a step forward. He will not let Fjord be his shield. Not for this.

His hands are trembling.

“I see Bren has told you about me,” Astrid says, her voice as cool and calm as it has always been. Her eyes flick briefly in his direction, and send ice down his spine. She looks at Caleb and a hint of warmth creeps into her voice. “It is good to see you again, Bren.”

* * *

Night falls quickly, this far North, and they are all too cold and hurt to go without a fire. Beau refuses to let Astrid out of her sight, so it is Yasha and Caduceus who build a small campfire. Well – it is small at first, until Yasha starts dragging one of the Ice Demons corpses to the flames and throws it in before anyone can protest. It takes a fair bit of arguing and dissuasion before she is convinced to drag it out and bury it in the snow instead. 

They form a rather peculiar circle around the campfire, with Astrid on one side and everybody else huddled together on the other side as Caduceus casts his circle of healing. Veth is practically sitting in Caleb’s lap, and Beauregard has yet to stop glaring. The others seem a little more indifferent, although Yasha and Fjord’s hands never stray far from the pummels of their swords and Jester’s hands keep worrying at her dress.

“Forgive me. This must seem – unexpected,” Astrid says, breaking the awkward silence. She holds herself carefully, to the point where Caleb suspects she’s hiding an injury. “Only – I did not know where else to go.”

“This is not… A mission?” Caleb asks. His voice sounds strange to his own ears, perhaps because his friends are silent. They are never silent – except that they are, right now. His chest feels tight.

Astrid inclines her head and the corner of her lips curl up. “Ah – no. It’s not.” She shrugs. “I would’ve tried something by now, don’t you think?”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Beauregard snaps. Sparks crackle around her gloves until Fjord puts a hand on her elbow to steady her.

“You’re with the Cerberus Assembly,” Fjord says. “Aren’t you?”

“I did have that honor.”

“If you could give us a reason to trust you, maybe things would be different,” Fjord says, eyes straying to Caleb. Caleb is too preoccupied to notice, as his mind is still tripping over her use of the past tense.

“I understand you are distrustful of the Assembly,” Astrid answers, unaware of Caleb’s turmoil.

“Of _course_ we are,” Jester says. “The Assembly are a bunch of _creeps_.” She’s pouting, but still she looks magnificent in the cold winter air, bits of frost still covering her cheek and her clothes as if the cold doesn’t bother her at all. It feels unreal that someone like her can exist in the same world as someone like Astrid. It feels more unreal still that Astrid is here, now, meeting Jester and all his friends as past meets present.

“Ah – we’ve had reason to be wary,” Caduceus adds.

“I suppose we must seem frightening to you,” Astrid says.

“Back it up with the patronizing bullshit,” Beauregard crosses her arms. “You can’t just change your mind and decide to hang out with us all of a sudden. Are you really trying to convince us you don’t have any ulterior motives?”

Astrid blinks. “Master Ikithon has met each and every one of you. He can scry on you whenever he likes, if he so wishes.”

“That’s _not_ the same.”

Astrid nods, as if to say, _fair enough_. Then she opens her cloak and lets it fall to the side. She raises her right arm, which had previously been covered.

Half her hand is gone. The bloody stump is hastily bandaged, leaving only a thumb and an index finger intact.

Caleb feels himself go cold, and a few feet away Jester gasps and slaps her hands over her mouth. Caleb twists his fingers and casts Dispel Magic with a whisper. The bloody stump remains. Not an illusion. He feels sick.

“I required a scroll to cast that spell just now,” Astrid says calmly. It’s a tone of voice he has heard many times before, during their training. Astrid always excelled at detachment. “So you needn’t worry that I will attack you. I was indeed part of the Assembly – but I don’t expect they will take me back. It is hard to stay when you are suspected of attempted murder on one of the arch mages.”

There’s a brief silence and then his friends are all asking questions, talking through each other in their confusion, until Caleb opens his mouth and the others turn to him as their resident Assembly expert.

It’s awful to be the center of attention at the best of times. Now, it nearly robs him of his breath.

Caleb grasps for words or even coherent thought. “You – who?”

There’s something like amusement in Astrid’s voice as she says, “Did I not tell you? All old men must die someday. Some, however, are in need of a little periodic assistance.”

Gears click and whir and come to a screeching halt. “Du hast _ihn_ vergiftet,” Caleb says. _You were poisoning_ him.

“Ich habe es versucht.” _I have tried_.

Caleb laughs. He’s not sure why – none of this is funny. It just bubbles up, unbelieving and desperate. Astrid matches it with a wry smile of her own.

Veth’s grip tightens on his hand. “What did she tell you? What’s going on?”

“She has tried to kill master Ikithon,” Caleb says. “Which is – it is ridiculous, why would you –“

“You guessed it, when we spoke in Rexxentrum. I have always been ambitious,” Astrid says. “But I never quite learned to be patient.”

His mind trips over the word _ambitious_ and his hope slowly siphons away. He looks at Astrid over the crackling flames. She is still ambitious, then – she hasn’t had a change of heart. She hasn’t – she’s not – oh, he’s having trouble breathing.

“Caleb,” Veth says, and when he looks down her eyes are large and worried. “Caleb, it’s okay – we’re still with you.”

“Deep breaths, man,” Beauregard says.

Caleb nods and looks at his feet. Shame burns in his face as he tries to regulate his breathing again. When he looks back up at Astrid, he sees a flash of something like pity. He blinks away tears of frustration at the thought and squares his shoulders.

“How are you still _alive_?” He asks.

“The last dosage was too large,” Astrid says, “he was starting to notice symptoms. An aide of his recognized them. Fortunately, another of his aides warned me in time. Well, very nearly in time.” She raises her stump.

“Eodwulf helped you,” he guesses, stupidly.

“No,” Astrid says, with a puzzled little smile. “Not Eodwulf. Never him.”

Another blow. Caleb swallows. “Why come here? To m- to us?”

“Because somehow, over the past few months, your group has managed to attain something like diplomatic immunity,” Astrid says, smiling. “And – I was curious.”

“You… want to come along?” Fjord says, frowning. “Forgive me, but that seems mighty presumptuous of you.”

Astrid opens her mouth to reply, but Caduceus interrupts her with his warm, rumbling voice. “You’re afraid,” he says. “You’ve come to us for protection, because you’re worried he will kill you.”

For a moment, Astrid looks like she’s been struck. Finally, her stoic façade trembles. “One wizard alone cannot stand against the Volstruckers and hope to survive.”

“So leave the country,” Beau says. “Hell, leave the continent. Go to Tal’Dorei, instead of bothering us.”

“They will find me wherever I go.”

“Why is that _our_ problem?”

Astrid’s eyes flick to Caleb.

Beau looks taken aback, and then scoffs. “You’re betting on Caleb wanting to help you,” she says, incredulously.

Astrid’s jaw clenches. “Is that such a strange thought?” Anger strains her voice.

“It is when you haven’t lifted a finger to help him for _years_!” Beau cries out, rising to her feet.

Astrid flinches. “There was nothing we could do,” she bites back. “Don’t you think I would’ve tried?”

“Oh, so that makes it okay that you just continued working with his fucking abuser –“

“Beauregard,” Caleb manages, past a tight throat. “ _Please_.”

“What? Tell me I’m wrong!”

“If he was my abuser, then he was also hers,” Caleb says, quietly. “She doesn’t –“ he turns to face Astrid, though he cannot meet her eyes. She looks deathly pale. “You don’t understand yet.”

Beauregard sits back down rather abruptly, cheeks flushed with anger. He can tell there’s more she wants to say, and he’s sure she will, but perhaps she recognizes his inability to take it all in right now.

He can only have so many arguments at the same time, after all.

Astrid’s eyes drill into his. Their familiar warm brown burns. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like I don’t understand who he is. I know it better than you do.”

“And yet, you would still be willing to follow in his footsteps,” Caleb says quietly.

“For the _good of our nation_ –“

“At the cost of our _children,_ ” Caleb snaps.

Silence falls over the campfire. Astrid’s face is strained and pale. In some ways it’s the same conversation they had in Rexxentrum. In others, it is not. He feels stronger, like this. His friends are by his side. He can feel Yasha and Beau’s anger. He senses Fjord and Caduceus’s will to understand. Feels Jester and Veth’s worried looks.

Veth’s hand is warm and comforting in his own as her thumb rubs little circles across his skin. He meets her eyes briefly and sees the same conflicting emotions he feels himself reflected in them.

“Caleb? What you want to do?” She asks.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. They’re all watching him, his friends, with varying looks of understanding in their eyes. Jester is wringing her hands together. Beauregard looks like she would kill Astrid in a minute, if he asked it of her. Yasha would probably join.

He clears his throat. Ignores the lump in it. His chest hurts. “We could take her with us for a few days, until we have collected supplies for my teleportation spell. Then, we can take her to Nicodranas, where she can charter a ship to Tal’Dorei, if she so wishes.”

The Mighty Nein all nod their assent. Across the campfire, Astrid’s head dips in defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY Caleb POV is HARD.
> 
> I'm not sure what this is. i've been struggling with writer's block and really had to get something out.
> 
> Thoughts? Suggestions? Any encouragement is welcome!


	2. Jester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Still Don't Know What This Is But At Least I'm Having Fun

B R E N

When Bren is fifteen, he meets the smartest person he's ever met. Her name is Astrid, and she is as clever as can be. He thinks he does an okay job of seeming confident when he shakes her hand, but his heart races. She reminds him in some ways of a fox, with her sly eyes and economical, elegant gestures. She’s his only fellow student who can keep up with his rapid progress, but instead of jealousy he only feels elation at knowing a true equal.

It is Astrid who initiates their friendship by suggesting they study together. It is Astrid who initiates everything else, when she kisses him in the library, long past curfew. Her lips taste of tea and the crackle of magic, and Bren falls in love.

* * *

J E S T E R

They cannot return to Rexxentrum for obvious reasons, so they head south instead. Traveling on foot is achingly slow, but Astrid does not complain. Steadily, the thick forests of the north give way to rolling fields and lakes. The group remains silent throughout.

They go through their usual evening routine once the sun starts to set, and hit the hay after a tense meal.

It’s about an hour past midnight, by Jester’s estimation. The dome spans over their heads like a miniature sky, keeping the cold out. They’re curled up even tighter than they usually are, though it’s not so much because of the cold as it is because no one wants to sleep right next to Astrid. Caleb lies in the center of the heap, surrounded on all sides by allies.

Beau and Jester sit back to back, one eye on Astrid and one eye on the world outside the dome. Jester shifts restlessly. She’s felt off all day and wants to talk to the Traveler, but there’s no where she can be alone.

A feeling she can’t quite name sits in her chest like rapidly approaching thunderclouds.

“Astrid looks cold,” she says, finally. Her voice sounds small trapped inside the dome.

Beau huffs and turns away. Jester looks from one woman to another, worry marring her features, and bumps Beau’s shoulder with her own.

“Don’t you think she looks cold?”

“Who cares?”

Jester hunches over. “We gave her the worst spot in the dome,” she says. “She’s sleeping on rocks.”

Behind her, Beau shifts and moves until she’s in Jester’s periphery. To Jester’s keen eyes, she looks awfully tired.

“She’s not our friend, Jester.”

“She’s Caleb’s friend.”

“Is she?”

Jester pauses to think. “She came to him for help.”

“She never helped him, though,” Beau says gruffly.

“You mean when he was in that awful place for so long?” Jester thinks of a looming iron fence, dark hallways and serious faces. Trent Icky-Thong, looking at Caleb like a predator eyes his prey.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Maybe she visited…” Jester frowns and shakes her head. Her throat feels tight all of a sudden. She hates to think of Caleb, her friend, in a place like that, without even his friends to visit him. Worse still, his girlfriend. Is that what Astrid was?

Jester tries to imagine their silly, broody Caleb with this woman, but for once her imagination comes up short. It’s not that Astrid doesn’t suit him, with her serious gaze and soft spoken words. In some ways, she can imagine them together rather too well. Perhaps in some other world, they would be that grave, stately couple that springs to mind when Jester sees them together, ruthless and beautiful. But Jester doesn’t think she would like that version of Caleb. He would have to lose some part of himself to be with Astrid. The part that made him study a spell to fly unicorns around her head, or make Frumpkin dance, the part that made him cast seeming on the group just to tease Fjord. The part Jester likes best.

“I guess I don’t know how we should treat her,” she says, finally. “She’s not a friend, but she’s not completely an enemy either.”

Beau gives her a faint smile. It doesn’t last; after a moment Beau’s brow furrows and her lips thin. “We can’t trust her,” she says quietly. “She’s like Caleb, only – she stuck around. That makes her complicit, y’know?”

Jester sighs deeply, and looks up at the stars. “I know,” she says, “but what else can we do? If we just let her die…” She finds Caleb’s still form the dark, and shakes her head.

“Yeah, I know.” Beau pulls her knees up to her chest and balances her chin on her arms. “It’s a mess.”

“I just don’t want him to be hurt, you know?”

“I think it’s kind of unavoidable at this point, Jessie. He still cares.”

“He still loves her,” Jester says, feeling inexorably sad.

Beau grimaces. Shadows cut deep lines across the plains of her face. “I wish you weren’t right about that.”

“You know, at first, before we learned more about the Assembly, I thought it might be cute if they got back together. But now,” Jester hugs herself. “Now I don’t want it anymore.”

“I don’t think that will happen. He knows she’s in the wrong, so even if he still felt that way I don’t think he would act on it.”

Jester stomps a heel into the ground. “But that’s worse, because then he’s pining but he won’t let himself be with her, and he’ll just be unhappy again.”

“He’s got to get over her someday, Jessie. I’m pretty sure she’s over him.”

“Hmm. I don’t like it. I really don’t like it.”

“I don’t like _her_ ,” Beau grumbles.

Jester considers. “I don’t, either.”

“I think,” Beau begins slowly. “I think we just need to sit this one out. Be there for him if it goes wrong, you know?”

She’s a warm presence in the dark, even just the press of her shoulder against Jester’s is reassuring. Jester pulls herself together and swallows down the ache. She thinks and thinks and thinks about a way to make things better.

She doesn’t know Astrid, but she wants to. Not for Astrid’s sake, but for the sake of her friend who is sad enough as it is. A plan begins to formulate in her mind, and Jester cracks a smile.

“Let’s do that, then.”

* * *

A S T R I D

The tiefling is watching her.

They all watch her, of course, with varying degrees of suspicion. The Cobalt Soul monk watches Astrid with venom in her eyes. This, Astrid expected. The Assembly and the Cobalt Soul are old adversaries, after all. The Halfling who rarely leaves Bren’s side watches Astrid as you would a predator, with wide skittish eyes and one hand always near her crossbow. This too, Astrid expected.

The Half-orc and the Xhorhassian are harder to read, but their brand of animosity is that of a warrior protecting a comrade. This too, Astrid knows, although the memory is old and faded. The Firbolg – the healer, the assassin in her mind whispers – is unpredictable and a little frightening, but he is easy to avoid.

The tiefling is neither avoidable nor predictable. In fact, Astrid is starting to think the young cleric might just be the most dangerous member of the group.

It starts like this:

Astrid wakes on the first morning to the sight of a small dark object on her pillow. Instinct propels her off her bedroll and into a fighting stance, lightning crackling around her fingers. Seasoned warriors that they are, the Mighty Nein jump into action as quickly as she does. Hastily abandoned cups and plates clatter to the frozen ground.

The result: there exists a brief moment in time where eight of the most powerful warriors in Wildemount threaten a black moss cupcake with annihilation.

Then, Jester laughs and claps her hands together. “Oh, you found my gift!”

The lightning crackling around Astrid’s fingers dissipates, and one by one the Mighty Nein relax back into their morning routine, wearing vaguely embarrassed expressions.

Astrid frowns at the cupcake. “You have given me a pastry.”

“I have! Though I’m not sure it _technically_ counts as a pastry? It could be more of a cookie, maybe?” Jester wonders, one finger on her lips. “Oh, I could ask Caleb! He knows everything.”

Astrid’s courage falters. “I just – why have you given me a cupcake?”

“Oh. I thought it might cheer you up.”

“As… Breakfast?”

“If you like. I usually keep them in my pockets as a snack for on the road.” Jester smiles haplessly.

Astrid frowns and tries to read into a pair of cheerful violet eyes. It’s an act, right? It has to be. Her eyes flit over to Bren, who watches the two of them from the corner of his eyes with a faint smile around his lips. The smile disappears the moment he catches her eyes and he looks away.

“You know, usually, when someone gives you a gift, you say ‘thank you’,” Jester says, still with that damnable grin.

“Thank you,” Astrid says, past gritted teeth.

The one thing Astrid cannot figure out is how Jester placed it on the pillow without waking her.

* * *

The group travels largely in silence. Sometimes, when they forget she is there, they will rib each other over past shenanigans or some more recent blunder. The halfling’s shrill voice drowns out all others, grating to Astrid’s ears. Reports state that the Mighty Nein most likely assembled some thirteen months ago, but Astrid thinks it must have been longer. They move like a circus troupe, well familiar with one another’s habits.

Bren keeps to himself near the back of the group, hands stuffed in his pockets and his head held low. This is not usual, Astrid thinks, going by how often his companions throw him worried looks. He wasn’t quiet as a boy, either, but the confident young man she remembers is little more than a ghost. Caleb Widogast just happens to wear Bren’s face.

He avoids Astrid altogether.

The clerics are consistently the most likely to address Astrid. It is Caduceus who, when she grows tired in the late afternoon and forgets to hide her grimace, offers to look at her hand. She accepts his offer begrudgingly, as a way to foster trust.

His large hands are surprisingly gentle on her wrist. “These wounds were caused by magic, I take it?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm.” There’s a rush of air and his long fingers flow briefly. The worst of the ache fades, though the palm still throbs with every beat of her heart.

“There’s not much else I can do, I’m afraid,” he says. “Not without your original fingers. Though there might be a spell –Hmm.” His brow furrows and his expression grows troubled.

“You’re wondering if you should,” Astrid says.

“Well, frankly – yes. No offense meant, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Mind you, you might be able to use magic with adjusted hand gestures.”

“I might.” She is already thinking about the forms, of course. She has been from the moment the spell struck her hand. It will not be easy. Without an outlet, her magic itches underneath her skin.

“Hmm,” Caduceus says again, and pushes up her sleeve past her wrist. “Interesting tattoos.”

She pulls her arm out of his grasp and cradles her wrist. The stumps where her fingers used to be look healed over, as though it happened years ago. “Thank you for healing the wounds.”

He blinks and pulls back, puzzled. “Right. Well, you’re welcome, Ms. Astrid.” He turns and leaves to join his friends by the fire. They are surreptitiously glancing at her from over their shoulder, undoubtedly to ensure she does not suddenly pull out a knife and try to murder their friend. She has no intention of doing so. There is no need for it. They are the Assembly’s enemy, and she is no longer –

She swallows. Thinks of Eodwulf, and her students. Her gorge rises.

“Hey! Are you okay?” Jester dances up to her, skirt swirling behind her as she moves. There is a fluidity to her movement that reminds Astrid of a water genasi scourger she knows. She wonders at the connection.

“I’m fine.”

“Caduceus says you have tattoos. Can I see?”

What one of them knows, all of them seem to know. Not that her tattoos are secrets, exactly – only what lies underneath. She briefly considers the situation, then pulls up her sleeve to the elbow and holds out her arm.

Jester gasps and jumps closer. A cool hand closes around Astrid’s elbow and she has to fight the instinct to break away. Jester trails a finger across the intricate lines of Astrid’s tattoo.

“This is beautiful,” she breathes, then looks up. “Is it to hide the scars?”

Astrid’s breath hitches and her eyes find Bren at the campfire. He is watching them, eyes dark underneath his fringe. She looks down, at his hands. He wears one magical glove, but the other hand is uncovered. He did not stay long enough to receive tattoos. Only a sleeve hides his scars from the world.

“Oh, Caleb showed us his,” Jester says, with uncanny insight. “And he told us – well. He told us about the crystals.” She scrunches her nose.

“Did he?”

“Yup.”

Astrid looks at Bren again. He has turned away from them, his face toward the fire. The line of his shoulder is tense, and his cat meows uncomfortably under his rather forceful petting. He is an excellent liar, she remembers, except when it concerns matters of the heart.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories for you,” Jester says, frowning. “I just wanted to see your tattoo. I’m learning how to make my own, you see? And, oh!”

She steps back and unclasps her cloak. “Come and see!”

A tattoo stretches across her chest and shoulders in elegant white. It is all curves and elegant lines where Astrid’s is geometrical and straight. In the middle, across her thorax, two hands fold together.

“It suits you,” Astrid says.

Jester beams. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“You… Make your own?”

“Oh, yes!” Jester runs back to the fire and rummages for the backpack. After a moment she returns, carrying a small book. She opens it, skims a few pages, and holds it up to Astrid. A little :-) smiles back at her, with one crooked little tooth. “I’ve done this one, a couple of times.”

“On… your friends?” Astrid asks, and tries not to look at Bren again.

“No, they won’t let me,” Jester pouts. “I put it on a couple of sailors we beat, though, and a bugbear in Xhorhas!”

“…Right.”

Curiosity draws her to the sketchbook again, and she catches a glimpse of a few rather obscene images before Jester snaps it shut and returns it to her bag.

“They don’t mind so much when I draw them, though,” Jester says. “And I painted the walls of Yasha’s room with wildflowers.”

“How lovely,” Astrid says, and tries to connect the large barbarian woman with flowery wallpaper. She cannot quite grasp it.

Jester smiles and pats Astrid’s shoulder. “Thank you for showing me,” she says, and returns the campfire as suddenly as she had left it.

Astrid watches her go, all the while rubbing her arm. Jester is a puzzle Astrid is not quite sure she can put together. It would be easy to say she is a child, vapid and colorful, but Astrid knows that reading is inaccurate. A woman who marks the skin of her fallen foes with ludicrous drawings is one whose mindset she cannot quite gauge.

Still in thought, she returns to the campfire. Jester is caught up in some conversation with Veth that requires a lot of shouting and gesticulating. Astrid watches the faces of her traveling companions, and notices two things.

One, the monk watches Jester with a kind of reverence Astrid has not seen since she was a girl in love.

Two. So does Bren.

* * *

On the fourth day of travel, Jester watches her incessantly, bent over her sketching book. A storm rages around them, blocking their path, so they sit in the dome and wait. The men have all fallen asleep, curled up together in one corner.

The staring is irritating, but Astrid suspects there is no point in speaking up. She is being drawn, whether she wants it or not.

Some of the others catch on as well, and after a while Veth nearly clambers into Jester’s lap to see her drawing. Her eyes go even wider than they usually are, and she flops down on Jester’s thigh, wordlessly. “That’s really nice, Jessie,” she croaks, and goes to sit with Bren. Even the monk comes to look at the drawing, and frowns when she sees it.

After a while, Jester sits up and nods to herself. “I think it’s done.” She tears the page out of her book with one confident motion, and rolls the drawing up. She crosses the few feet to Astrid and hands it over, along with a pretty pink bow.

“It’s yours,” she says. “As a reminder of the things that really matter.”

Astrid tentatively unrolls it.

It’s a charcoal drawing. A tree covers nearly the whole of the page, the leaves spilling across the paper. A young couple sits against its gnarly trunk, curled up together around a book. It takes a moment, but then Astrid recognizes the curve of the young man’s nose and the shape of the woman’s jaw. She stills.

“Do you like it?” Jester asks, unusually soft.

Astrid’s eyes trace the little figures with care. She remembers days like these. They would sneak out after classes, before Ikithon, and spend hours in the open air. They are some of her fondest memories, and seeing them brought to life nearly brings tears to her eyes. She blinks them away, though – conditioning always overtakes sentiment, after so many years.

“Thank you,” she says. “It’s – you have a real gift.”

She can’t quite bring herself to look away just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jester: what if I BEFRIEND the magic murder lady? :)
> 
> Thoughts and comments are very welcome!


	3. Beauregard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ my 3-5 readers: I see you, I love and appreciate you, leave a comment, have a nice day <3

B R E N

They relish power, when they are young and foolish and in love. It’s like a game of one-upmanship, the two of them and Eodwulf, always showing off for an audience of one. Eodwulf practices abjuration, enhancing his own body to great heights. Astrid excels at illusion, creating the most terrifying imagery she can conjure up to make her target scream without her even having to touch them. Bren is more straightforward than either, and favors evocation. He burns with fervor, and everything he touches burns with him.

Power is intoxicating. It makes the air shimmer and their hearts beat to the drum of their own magnificence. Anything, for a smile on Trent Ikithon’s lips.

After, when they return to their dorms with aching, abused bodies shaking from the loss of adrenaline, they hold each other up with zealous conviction.

Alone, each of them would break. Together, they feel as though they could conquer the world.

They are sure of this.

They are wrong.

* * *

A S T R I D

On the third night Bren’s reluctance to engage with the group while Astrid is around becomes so painfully obvious that Beau grabs him by the wrist and drags him away from the fireplace to have a hushed discussion with him. It grows steadily louder until the rest of the group squirms uncomfortably around the fire.

“Don’t worry, they always get into arguments. And then they hug and make up!” the Tiefling says cheerfully, but her tail swishes restlessly through the air. “Well, sometimes they hug. It’s _really_ awkward.”

“Are they not friends? I thought –“

“No, they are. That’s kind of the problem,” Fjord rumbles, letting out a deep sigh. “They both care too much, and neither of them is good at showing it. ‘s fine when it’s one of us they’re worried about, but when it’s each other?” He shakes his head.

“She does not like me. Beauregard,” Astrid says. There’s an uncomfortable tension in her belly and her chest that she cannot force away with controlled breathing. She had not meant to speak, but now she has. It’s a lapse in judgment of a kind she has not made in years. Too late to take it back.

“Oh, you know,” Jester sing songs, looking at her halfling friend from the corner of her eye as if asking for help. “She’s just – and you’re –“

“Beau’s a prickly pear with a golden heart and you’re an amoral assassin spy lady who also happens to be Caleb’s ex,” Veth says, uncompromising.

The others shift uncomfortably around the campfire. Fjord pinches the bridge of his nose and Yasha glances from Veth to Astrid to Caleb and Beauregard in the distance, confused. Caduceus sighs, and drags his long legs closer to his body so that the only thing they hear over the crackle of the fire and the distant voices is the drag of his heels through the mud.

“Perhaps you should talk to Beau about this, if it bothers you,” Caduceus suggests, in that eerily calm voice of his. “She appreciates the direct approach. Then again,” he adds, turning his wide eyes on her, “it might not be the sort of thing you can remedy.”

Astrid blinks and leans forward, elbows on her knees. She runs her hands together and inspects the faces around the campfire as they look back at her. For the first time since meeting them, she feels small. None of them care for her – she knows this – but she knows it more keenly tonight than any night before. They are Beauregard’s friends – _Bren’s_ friends – and they do not trust her.

She has not come to make friends, anyhow. She pushes the feeling of smallness into a corner of her mind and takes out her spell book to prepare the few spells she can still cast. She has trouble focusing even after the argument in the distance fades out, but she stubbornly presses on.

It’s nothing, after all. It’s nothing.

* * *

A S T R I D

On the fourth day, they reach a small farming village. It’s dusk by the time they arrive so they beeline for the inn.

“How many rooms would you like?” The barkeeper asks, and an uncomfortable silence falls.

“Actually,” Fjord says, “could you give us a minute?”

Astrid remains by the bar as the group not so subtly gathers just out of earshot, huddled together like a group of penguins. She keeps her spine almost painfully straight and tries not to show her discomfort. How the Mighty Nein bamboozled the _Kryn Dynasty_ into trusting them, she genuinely doesn’t know – they are the furthest thing from diplomatic. Astrid does not generally need people, or even want them around, but they still manage to make her feel left out.

“Three rooms,” Bren tells the barkeep, when the group has finished their little discussion. “You will stay with Veth and I,” he adds to Astrid, avoiding her eyes.

Something in her stomach twists. “Very well,” she says, and follows the others up the stairs.

Their room is simple but warm, furnished with two single beds and a small fireplace. Veth immediately zooms across the room towards the window, where she tests its lock. She throws darting glances at Astrid all the while.

Bren just sighs and sinks onto the bed that’s nearest to the door. He looks tired. “I do not think you will run, but these are just precautions, ja? We will stay up in turns as you sleep. We will not harm you, or go near you. You can rest easy.”

“Unless you try to murder us,” Veth adds helpfully. “I will absolutely harm you if you try _that_.”

Astrid considers. “That’s fair,” she decides, and takes off her beautiful fur-lined coat.

“Ah – there is a bathroom, downstairs. We were going to take turns bathing. You could join the girls, if you like?” Bren says. With the snap of his fingers, his familiar appears in his lap and starts purring loudly. Bren’s eyes never leave the cat’s fur.

“I would like that,” Astrid says. She wouldn’t, really, but she is cold and weary and there is no longer a point in keeping secrets.

Bren nods and stands up to pull clothes from his backpack. He tosses her a plain white shirt with long sleeves. It is soft with age, and too big for her. She can see the signs of magical mending. Her fingers clench in the fabric as she remembers days where wearing his shirts was commonplace.

“We can buy you some clothes tomorrow, but you can sleep in this, if you would like. Trust me, it beats sleeping in the clothes you have been wearing all day.” Bren doesn’t look away from his backpack as he speaks, and pulls out some other clothes for himself.

“Thank you.”

“I’d offer up some clean underwear, but I don’t think it would fit,” Veth says, eyeing Astrid speculatively. She’s clutching a bundle of fabric to her chest and nods at the door. “Go on. Jessie, Yasha and Beau have already gone in.”

Veth leads her down the stairs into the back of the building, where a large room has been built over a natural hot spring. Condensation dances in the air like fog.

The other women are already bathing, without any apparent shame. The group doesn’t seem especially big on shame in general. The only reason they split up seems to be that the washing room isn’t large enough for all of them at once, and even then she suspects they have only split up by gender because of her presence.

Any shame Astrid herself might once have felt has been thoroughly trained out of her, so she does not mind stripping before them. Besides, they are as scarred as she is –the marks of slashes, stab wounds, arrowheads and magical attacks are stamped all across their skin. The only difference, Astrid supposes, is that most of her own scars are methodical, arranged in neat patterns across her skin.

She washes to the sound of Jester’s babble, and wonders if Bren is as scarred as they are.

Throughout it all, Lionette eyes her like a hawk. At first sight she seemed like a blustering, loudmouthed brat, but Astrid knows not to fall for first impressions. A shiver runs down her spine as she feels the woman’s gaze linger on her skin. Beauregard’s eyes linger on the burn scars that start at her neck and run down to her chest.

“Nasty burns you’ve got there,” Beauregard remarks, drawing the attention of the other women as well.

Astrid allows a smile to appear on her face. “Burns tend to be.”

“Right,” Beauregard says, but her eyes are narrowed.

“Oh – are those from a battle?” Yasha asks. Astrid has noticed she often sounds remarkably gentle for a woman as intimidating as she is.

“Of a sort,” Astrid says, and now both Beauregard and Veth watch her with narrowed eyes.

“Either it was a battle, or it wasn’t a battle,” Veth argues.

“Well, it can be quite confusing at times,” Yasha says. “Sometimes, you think something is a battle, but then it turns out they were just arm wrestling and you jumped to a conclusion. And to your sword.”

“I think that’s just you, Yasha,” Veth sniggers.

Jester squirms on the bench. “Maybe it’s a little rude to ask about someone’s scars, though?”

“Why? So she can be all cool and mysterious about it?” Beau shrugs. “I don’t see why we should let her have that.”

Astrid’s jaw clenches. “There is nothing mysterious about my scars,” she says, voice even. “You are welcome to ask – but you might not like the answers.”

Jester and Veth simultaneously “oooh”, and scoot a little closer.

“That sounded pretty cool and mysterious to me!”

“If I told you, I would have to kill you,” Veth says, in a register much deeper than her own. Jester coos.

“You’re like – like a secret agent!”

Astrid stares. “Well, yes. I was.”

Two pairs of wide eyes blink back at her.

“Right! I knew that.”

“Yeah! Royal _assassin_.”

“Perhaps you might say it louder, so the attendant might hear,” Astrid suggests.

Two things happen all at once. Veth and Jester grimace and go quiet (the halfling mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key). Beauregard laughs.

It’s more of a snort than a laugh, really. Just a short burst of sound. Beauregard looks like she swallowed her tongue. Then the scowl returns and she turns her entire body around. “Yasha, could you scrub my back?” She asks, and refuses to look at Astrid for the rest of the night.

* * *

They wake to the sound of screams outside. Veth, the last on watch, is calling for Caleb and practically hanging out of the window. Bren throws his blankets off and strides towards the window. Astrid does not sense any magic, so she remains seated in her bed and watches the line of Bren’s shoulders. He is broader than she remembers, and where his hair had once been shorter than hers it now falls nearly to his shoulders, glowing red in the morning light.

“What can you see?” She asks.

“Bandit raid,” he says. “Veth, we should –“

“Yeah,” Veth says, and leaps down the windowsill. She lands neatly on the balls of her feet and rushes for her the door, crossbow already in hand.

Bren pulls on pants over his long underwear and grabs his book holsters. He pauses halfway to the door and looks at her.

She raises an eyebrow. He flushes.

“Prisoner 101. Don’t leave your prisoner behind,” she says, in Zemnian, “remember?”

“Yes,” he says, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “But you are not, technically, our prisoner.”

Astrid smiles. “True. Would you like me to come along anyway?”

Even the tips of his ears go red when he’s embarrassed. She remembers that much. He lets out a deep sigh, and nods.

“But stay back, alright? You can’t fight the way you are.”

“I might still be of use,” Astrid says, and throws on her clothes over the oversized, borrowed shirt. There is no point in bringing her book holsters, but she does not go unarmed. As she pulls on her coat, she feels the familiar stiff knife holsters sown into the sleeves.

“If you stay with Caduceus or me, it’ll be fine,” Bren says, as they rush down the stairs. There’s an undercurrent of tension in his voice. It takes her a moment to realize it is not caused by a fear of battle but by worry for her. It’s touching, if entirely unnecessary.

But then he never made it to _that_ phase of their training.

A crowd has gathered in the street. Fjord, Jester, Beau and Yasha are in the process of utterly overwhelming a handful of bandits, but the fifth and final bandit is backing into the crowd. Metal glints in his hand. Astrid slips away from Bren’s side and into the crowd. She considers her options. A knife to the back? A good way to lose the little trust she’s gained. No – she slides the blade back up her sleeve.

The bandit is panicking. Any moment now, he will do something stupid. And ah, there – he grabs a child of perhaps twelve by the shoulder to drag her against him. Astrid bowls into him instead, freeing the screaming child from his grip, and they tumble to the ground. He’s bigger than her, but she’s learnt to fight _mean_. A knee to the crotch, palm to the nose, and then he’s too concerned with his own pain to worry about hers.

Astrid stands, confident, and waits for Fjord to tie the man up. The world briefly spins and warmth oozes down her belly. His knife. How sloppy.

“Hey, are you all right?” Fjord asks. He’s really close all of a sudden, and she staggers a step backwards and right into Caduceus’s tall form.

The Firbolg bends towards her ( _Lawmaker_ , he is tall) and frowns. “I’m going to have to take a look at that once we have handed these gentlemen over.”

“That was some quick thinking, though,” Fjord says. “Who knows what he would have done to that kid.”

“Taken her as a hostage so he might flee the village, most likely,” Astrid says automatically. There’s no pain yet, but it won’t be long. She’s not concerned. She has survived far worse.

* * *

Bren is worried, she can tell. He fidgets even more than before, and darts glances at her when he thinks she is looking. The two of them sit in the back of the group’s brand-new cart, along with Beauregard, as their journey continues. The hobbling, awkward sway of the cart pulls uncomfortably on Astrid’s half- healed wound, but they wouldn’t let her have a horse. Fair enough, although if she had really wanted to get away she might have done so already.

She wonders how much Bren even remembers from their training days. How much of him is still intact? She sees flashes of him, sometimes, somewhere behind the eyes. Most of the time, though, she sees Caleb Widogast, reluctant adventurer.

The next time he glances at her, she looks directly back at him, forcing the eye contact. He flinches and looks away, out of the cart. Half a minute creeps by before he mutters an excuse and climbs past them out of the cart, to share a horse with Veth.

“Man. What’d you do that for?” Beauregard says, arms crossed over her chest.

“He was getting overbearing.”

“Not that - though, _rude_ , he’s just worried – I meant saving the kid. I didn’t think you’d go in for saving peasants.”

Astrid tilts her head, birdlike. “Why wouldn’t I? I am of peasant stock myself.”

Beauregard scoffs, but begins to look uncertain when Astrid’s expression doesn’t change. “Y’know. Because you’re…”

“‘Evil’?”

“ I mean… yeah.”

Astrid shakes her head. “I do what is best for my country.”

Beau looks incredulous. “You don’t, though. You do what is best for a few.”

“How do you know?”

Beauregard huffs in frustration and sits up straight. Her eyes blaze. She has no trouble with eye contact. “Look, there’s no amount of ‘for the good of the country’ that will justify your shitty-ass organization. You’re about control. Controlling religion, cities, _lives_. It’s for your own comfort, not ours.”

“If that’s what you belie-“

“Oh, _fuck me,_ can’t you give me a _single genuine response?”_

They sit and stare at each other across the cart. Outside, it has begun to rain, but none of the others seem eager to join them under the roof of the cart. Astrid wonders if they are listening in.

“You would not like my answers, if I was honest with you,” she says, finally.

Beau’s face falls and she sags back against the sideboard. She looks sad, Astrid thinks. Sad, and tired. Astrid wants to wipe both expressions off her face.

“Hey look, I know it’s not _all_ you,” Beauregard says. “Right? You were manipulated. Hurt. So, like, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Astrid’s jaw clenches. “How does the saying go? To bake an omelette you must break the eggs.”

“Yeah, sure, but you’re not a fucking egg. Caleb is not a fucking egg. You were kids. You can’t still be on their side. You can’t be. It cost you your,” she darts a look outside the cart “your _family_.”

Something like anger begins to burn in the pit of Astrid’s stomach. “… he told you?”

Beau’s face crumples. Astrid _hates_ it. “I… yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was my choice.”

“But it _wasn’t_.”

“Please do not patronize me.”

“Look, I don’t know if you know this,” Beau says, energized, “but Caleb says they messed with his memories. That his parents weren’t actually –“

“Would it make a difference?” Astrid cuts her off, heart thundering.

“I – what?”

“If there were extenuating circumstances. Would it be forgivable, then?”

Now, Beau begins to squirm under her maintained eye contact. “I – yeah. Yeah, because there were. It’s – it’s different.”

“Are you sure it’s not just you making yourself feel more comfortable with the knowledge of what your friend has done?” Astrid asks, her voice level. She remembers a burning house, familiar voices crying out for help.

“I – I don’t –“ Beau’s eyes widen, then narrow in fury. “Wait, you’re changing the subject. You didn’t even let me finish – _did you already know_?”

Astrid looks at her for a moment longer. One corner of her mouth curls up, unbidden, and she finally looks away. “I don’t know what, exactly, Bren knows,” she says, quietly. “But I know the unlikelihood of not one but three farming families speaking of treason in the same night.”

Outside, one of the horses whinnies restlessly. Astrid hears the soft murmur of voices. There is at least the illusion of privacy, here in the cart.

Beauregard is still staring at her. “You know,” she says breathlessly. “You know Trent manipulated you, but you stuck around anyway.”

Astrid swallows. Thinks of the vision she once held for her country. The one she still has, and would have implemented if her plan had succeeded. “Yes, I did,” she says, facing Beau again. “How infuriating it must be for you not to understand something, expositor.”

Beau shakes her head. “You know, I don’t always appreciate it. The level of indoctrination Caleb escaped, I mean. The bullshit that’s all tangled up inside your head, even now. Maybe it’s just stronger than you. Or maybe you need more time and care than we can give. Maybe that’s all the understanding I need.”

Astrid’s eyes flash. On the other side of the cart, Beauregard watches her silently, and for a moment Astrid understands exactly why the Cobalt Soul is such a formidable opponent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Astrid with everyone: calculating bitch  
> Astrid with Caleb: teenage Mean Girl trope
> 
> It’s an interesting challenge to write from the perspective of a person I fundamentally disagree with. Is she redeemable? I’m not sure. Leave your thoughts in a comment!


	4. Yasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but I'm rather pleased with it. Yasha is a joy to write <3
> 
> The formatting of the story is all over the place, for which I apologize. This whole story began as a means to grow comfortable with writing again after a long writer's block, so I'm kind of writing whatever I please whenever I please. That said, I do have a conclusion in mind. I just don't know how long it will take to get there.
> 
> Now, let’s listen to everyone’s favorite soft barbarian. Mentions of Yasha’s past ahead.

B R E N

Bren’s memory has retained only a series of impressions of the sanatorium. Rough fabric itches against his skin. Clippers trace the shape of his skull, locks of hair falling to the ground. Foreign hands dress him, or pour cold water over his body. Voices speak gibberish around him.

A young woman watches him through a crack in the door, as her fingers caress the burn marks across her throat.

* * *

Y A S H A

It takes Yasha a while to notice, as these things often do. She has never made a study of Caleb or his habits, as he is so predictable in his day-to-day actions that there has never been much of a need. He likes routine, Yasha thinks. He likes for things to happen in a certain order at a certain time. He wakes up at dawn, if possible. He counts and orders his spell components as Caduceus prepares breakfast. He always picks the same foods and always sits between Veth and Beau as he eats them. Before bed, he unrolls his silver thread and sets up the dome. His shoulders do not relax until he has finished. He is orderly, neat and organized. 

Astrid is like Caleb in many ways. She has a routine of her own, for one thing. She wakes. She washes her face with dew or rainwater. She inspects the wounds to her hand. She does not eat until one of the others has taken their first few bites. She sits besides Caleb when she can, Caduceus if she can't, away from Yasha, Beau and Fjord. She observes with eyes that are entirely too keen.

Astrid’s rhythm has offset Caleb’s. He wakes too late, now, or too early. He eats only dry bread, but not Caduceus’s more nutritious offerings. He does not eat enough, in general, and when he does he sits beside Yasha instead. He always, always, keeps Astrid in his line of sight.

Yasha sees what they have been, but more than anything she sees what they are now. It does not sit right with her.

On the fifth night, she offers to take watch with Caleb. He smiles at her when she offers, and she finds herself smiling back. Caleb is pleasant company. There is little she has to explain to him that he does not already understand himself. Yasha waits for an hour, until she is sure the others have all fallen asleep. She watches Astrid the longest.

Across from her, Caleb sighs. Frumpkin is exploring outside, and without his steady presence Caleb’s hands keep themselves occupied with a piece of string. There’s not enough light for his books, Yasha supposes. His long fingers create one shape after another with an ease that belies his usual clumsiness. For a moment Yasha watches, transfixed.

Caleb’s hands stall briefly. They twitch, and he forms the word HI in thread. Yasha blinks. He gives her a tired smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,” she says, smiling softly.

“That’s all right. It’s quiet outside. Not much for us to do.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Silence falls over them once more. Yasha listens to the rustling trees outside the dome, and fidgets.

“Would you like a string, too?” Caleb asks. “Knitting is probably more effective to keep the mind occupied, but this still helps.”

“Oh. If you could show me how?”

“Of course, it is not that hard.”

He is lying – it is hard, Yasha thinks. The string makes her fingers look large and clumsy where usually they feel strong. She can only manage a handful of shapes, even as he patiently explains a few more complicated ones.

“It’s all right,” he says. “It requires a bit of practice.”

Yasha shakes her head. She has always had an appreciation for the finer arts. The harp is just one means of expression. She and Zuala had spent many a happy hour admiring the weave and color of the clothes worn by the tribe’s occasional guests and victims. She feels a little bad about that, now – making victims, not admiring fabric – but she is glad to be in a place where flowers grow. Still, she knows, her hands were meant for things other than creating.

She turns the string her hands, winding it around her index finger. She hesitates a moment longer, before finally opening her mouth. “Caleb, are you… Are you okay with this? With her being with us? Because, I think, I would understand if you are not.”

Caleb stills. He reminds her, sometimes, of a deer; he’s always watching for predators.

“I’m… Alright,” he says slowly.

“Only I’ve noticed,” Yasha presses on, “you seem… nervous.”

A pause. “More so than usual?” He asks with a soft chuckle, but it doesn’t sound entirely sincere.

“You’re not eating enough. I don’t think you're sleeping, either,” she says, and nods at him. There are bags underneath his eyes. “We do not have to take her all the way to Nicodranas.”

His expression softens. “I know.”

“You have no obligation to her.”

“I know.”

“We will support you if you want to change your mind.”

He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “Thank you, Yasha. But… I don’t think I want to.”

“You don’t want to leave her?”

“I don’t want her to die.” His voice cracks on the last vowel.

“I understand,” Yasha says. Her heart sits heavy in her chest. “I just don’t want you to hurt for her sake.”

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

They share a weary smile. It’s another theme that requires no explanations.

“I am sorry,” Yasha says.

“What for?”

“That what you had was broken,” she said softly. “I – I know how it feels.”

Caleb hunches over. His bangs hide his face from view. “Thank you,” he says, after what feels like an age. “We were not – we were not married, like you and – and Zuala, so I cannot claim it is the same. But I did –“

He trails off and looks over to where Astrid lies. Her face looks peaceful and young in sleep, despite the disfiguring scar. Caleb sighs again, and Yasha sees a shiver run down his body. She feels her own spine tingle as well, at hearing _her_ name spoken in another’s voice.

“I know,” Yasha says. “It’s all right. Such things can never be compared. If it hurts… It hurts.”

“Ja. And... It is hard not to feel like I have to be... _Bren_ again, around her. The person I used to be.”

"You never have to be him again, if you don't want to."

Caleb nods. He doesn't meet her eye again, and another silence falls.

“I wish – I wish you all could have met Zuala,” Yasha says.

“I wish we could’ve met her too,” Caleb says, kindly. “I bet she was wonderful.”

Yasha smiles as tears prickle in her eyes. “I dream of her every night.”

Caleb’s face twists in sympathy. He nods. “Ja,” he says, looking at the floor.

Yasha wonders how it would feel to love someone as they used to be, but not as they are. To have that person so tantalizingly close, wearing a familiar, beloved face, but to not be the person you fell in love with. Her own unrequited feelings, the ones she’s been trying to hold back for months, are painful as well, but… Beau is growing into a _better_ person every day. Even if Yasha cannot have her, she can enjoy Beau’s company as a friend. Astrid is not dead, but she’s not really Caleb’s Astrid either.

Yasha takes a deep breath, then lets the air run out through her nose. She tries to imagine what Zuala would say, but it becomes harder and harder every year to conjure up her voice. She will just have to stick to her own thoughts. She always does.

“Well,” Yasha says, finally, “if you do change your mind, or if she hurts you too much, just tell us, okay? We will help you. No matter what.”

Caleb’s shoulders tremble. “Thank you, Yasha,” he says, voice muffled in his hands.

* * *

B R E N

They leave just after dawn. Somehow, a few minutes in, Caleb finds himself walking beside Astrid. She smiles softly, says his name. If not for her scar and the knot in his chest, he could believe they were sixteen again.

But they’re not sixteen.

“Ah- my name is Caleb now,” he says, barely more than a murmur.

Her eyes seem sad. “Do you prefer it?”

“I- yes. I suppose I do.”

She holds his gaze. He lets her, for the first time since she joined the group. Then, she smiles.

"Okay, Caleb," Astrid says.

A little ways away, he sees Yasha smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter got a great response. Thank you all! Please do leave a comment if you enjoyed this one, too. I read every last one and it really makes my day!


	5. Veth, Beau, Yasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning! There is some more violence and at some point one of the characters vomits. See the endnotes if you want more detail.
> 
> So, writing for this particular fandom is a lot harder when there is a new episode every week, huh? The dinner episode was amazing, but it threw me for a loop for a little while. I’m scrambling to remember everything that happened and everything we’ve learned since. I’m hoping my characterization of Astrid still rings more or less true. Story wise, this is now obviously AU as the dinner never took place.
> 
> As a side note, I’m pretty sure I caught Liam referring to Astrid as “Astrid Beck” in the Halloween episode… Ms. No Last Name has a last name at last.

B R E N

The first time Trent tortures them, the three of them huddle up together in Bren’s little bedroom afterwards and bandage each other’s wounds. Their shaking hands make it difficult to tie knots or be gentle. It’s the first time Bren has seen either of his friends get scared. His own resolve has been rattled, but he remembers the expectant look in master Ikithon’s eyes. There is only so much weakness he will tolerate. So, Bren does not tolerate his own shaking hands or the way his thoughts seem to stutter when he remembers all the details of what was done.

He bolsters his friends with a kiss to Wulf’s forehead and a kiss to Astrid’s lips. He lingers on both, as if to remind them, _I am here. We can make it through, together_. Be strong, do not complain. Comply to _his_ wishes.

This is one of the things that haunts him, after.

C A L E B

It has been sixteen years, eight months and twenty-three days since Bren Aldric Ermendrud last kissed Astrid Beck. He remembers it – of course he remembers – as a quick peck on the corner of her mouth when they all reunited in Blumenthal, hours away from the greatest mistake of his life. He remembers how her eyes had darted away from his own after, nervous. How she hadn’t stopped frowning all evening, anger lacing every word. The last thing he remembers of the evening is her voice saying his name when the world burns down before him. How even it had sounded, all inflection having left her when her parents choked to their deaths.

She has now been with the group for five days. Caleb’s thoughts fluctuate, as they often do, between mild acceptance and gut wrenching panic. She is here, with his friends. _She_ is _here_ , with _his friends_. So, sometimes he can look at her and speak. Other times, he just wants her to stop existing. A larger part still wants to go back in time and steal her away from Blumenthal before the Soltryce Scout had ever laid eyes on them.

That night, he curls up in the snow with Veth at his back, and falls into dreams of fire and ash. He hears his parents' screams behind him but all he sees is _her_ , her hands on his shoulders and her face filled with confusion as she holds him back. It's a betrayal, from this girl he trusts over all others, this girl he loves. She should help him save them, _now_ , but instead she's just in the way so his hands light up and she _blazes_ and _screams just like his parents –_

He wakes up gasping with Veth’s warm hands pulling at his shoulders, trying to wake him up. Across the dome, Astrid’s cool brown eyes peer out from underneath her blankets and stare straight into his own.

* * *

A S T R I D

Inevitably, they reach a point where things go to hell. Perhaps joining Caleb’s group instead of fleeing by herself was too predictable, though she had thought, for a while, that it was the unpredictable thing to do. Unless her servant ratted her out the night she received a mysterious visitor, of course. Trent has always had a way of making people do whatever he wants.

She can’t sleep, her mind too clouded by the events of the past few days to let her rest. On the other side of the dome, Caleb stares back at her, eyes wide and terrified. He had suffered from horrible nightmares in the sanatorium. It was one of the few things that had made her believe some part of him still existed. He still does now, evidently. Her chest aches.

She sighs, stands up, and leaves the dome to do her business. It’s still cold out. She can feel Caleb’s eyes on her back. He can’t leave the dome without canceling it, though, so she doesn’t fear a difficult conversation tonight. His familiar slips out of the dome instead, and curls through her legs with a questioning _meow_. She eyes the creature impassively for a moment, before bending over and scratching its ears.

“ _Good boy_ ,” she mutters in her native tongue.

A distant whisper reaches her keen ears.

She expects retribution from Trent, of course. She doesn’t expect it to be Anya, the first of her pupils, who appears in the night and throws _Disintegrate_ at her back. The spell ripples over her skin like water, initially cool but then, but then –

Astrid is vaguely aware she’s screaming, but she isn’t dead so it’s okay. How typical of Anya, impulsive as she had always been, to lead with her most destructive spell. Anya is fury itself, her magic burning brightly in the night, but she was never one of Astrid’s brighter students. She’d been shipped off to a less important scourger in her second year, for someone else to waste their time on. What does it mean, that Anya was the one Trent sent to kill her?

The haze of pain lifts ever so slightly and she realizes Caleb is standing over her, throwing a fire spell she’s never seen before at Anya and her compatriots. The flames burn across the ground like a snake, curling and weaving, before they reach their target and burst upwards into a pillar of light. Astrid hears screams and sees the way Caleb’s legs briefly tremble before they steady.

Another figure runs past them – Beauregard, Astrid thinks – only half-dressed but seemingly undaunted as she heads straight for Anya.

Anya's second spell hits Yasha in the middle of her chest, and the huge woman crashes to the earth with a short, shocked "oh". Beau screams in pure rage, and a second later Caleb has flung the same spell back at Anja. It is more powerful magic than either Astrid or Anya expect from him, and Anja shudders and twitches in place as she fails her counterspell. Fjord's eerie eldritch blasts scream after Caleb’s spell, hitting another scourger straight in the chest, and the fight escalates to horrifying proportions within seconds. 

“Beck, you traitor!” Someone cries out, and Astrid wills herself to breathe.

She wraps one hand around Caleb’s ankle, squeezing it just enough that he notices and reads her intentions. He steps away and reaches out a hand to help her up. His palm is warm and steady against her own.

“Capture Anya,” Astrid says. Her voice is hoarse from screaming. “The Tiefling woman. I don’t think Trent means for them to kill us.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s too simple.”

He holds her gaze for a moment longer before he nods, and returns his focus to the battlefield. She allows herself a moment to watch as he steps away, his hands dancing in the air and eyes glowing with arcane light as he casts his next spell. Then she loses herself to the thrum of battle.

The Mighty Nein get to work.

It’s clear they’re accustomed to the ugly grind of battle. Anya’s people are good, very good, but the Nein barely flinch when they take a blow. The only time they look worried is when it’s one of their friends who’s hurt, which dislodges something painful and sharp from Astrid’s heart.

The second thing she notices is the level of their teamwork. Somehow, at some point, they found a way to mold their wildly differing fighting styles into one well-oiled machine. Caleb, in the back, is the one who shifts the battlefield to his will, boosting one comrade or crippling an enemy. Caduceus, in the middle, boosts and protects his friends as his ethereal green cloud of insects eats its way through armor. Jester dances between the front and the middle and the back, seemingly everywhere at once. Her magic is cute, pretty even, but as Astrid watches it tear through one of her former colleagues she knows it’s as lethal as anything else she’s seeing on the battlefield. Fjord’s magic is wild and strange, and what he can’t kill with his blasts he carves up with his massive, glowing sword. Veth seems to appear and disappear at will. Astrid had initially marked her out as the weakest link but it seems here, too, appearances can be deceiving. Veth is fast and utterly, _utterly_ ruthless with her crossbow. And oh, the frontline, the fighters… No wonder they’ve kept their casters alive. Yasha and Beauregard are a wall, and no one gets past them.

The Mighty Nein are a force of nature, and Trent Ikithon has been a fool to let them live for long enough to reach this point. Astrid can’t quite stop herself from smiling at the thought.

Anya’s group has experience, though, and when one of the scourgers sees the halfling pass by once again she reaches out a hand and catches her with _Chained Lightning_. Veth’s body jerks and hits the ground with a muffled thump as the lightning arcs through the group, striking Yasha and Beauregard as well. Veth, already injured from a well-aimed blast, stays down, and Anya goes in for the kill.

“VETH,” Bren screams, his voice pitched in a way she’s only ever heard once before. With almost laughable ease he throws Disintegrate across the field and through Anya’s heart. Anya freezes on the spot as her face contorts into a scream, and she falls apart.

Caleb runs after the spell he has just unleashed. He’s pale, lips pressed together, and aside from his initial shout he is utterly silent as he runs towards his halfling companion. Caduceus gets there first, his hands already glowing.

Astrid is running too, but with a rather different purpose in mind. Her body is throbbing with pain and her lungs wheeze as she moves, but she still has the strength to whip out her blade and throw it straight through a scourger’s throat. She watches the blood spurt with grim satisfaction.

“Keep one of them alive!” Beauregard shouts, holding her ribs but still standing.

Fjord neatly counterspells the third scourger’s attempt as _dimension door_ and the wizard goes down under Yasha’s blade.

The fourth and final scourger seems to pop out of existence, and for a moment Astrid thinks she’s teleported out. Instead, Jester kneels down and picks up a tiny little turtle, its little legs weaving through the air. “Gotcha,” she says, all vindication, and that same unbidden smile reappears on Astrid’s face.

She refocuses her attention to Caleb and Veth, who is slowly regaining consciousness under Caduceus’ watchful eye. Astrid sighs with something she thinks might be relief, and begins to walk the perimeter. Yasha joins her quickly. Seeing her close like this, covered in blood and still fuming, sends Astrid’s hindbrain skittering. Fear is nothing to her anymore, though, and she pushes it aside.

“Well done, with the knife,” Yasha says, awkwardly. “I didn’t know you could do that. Are you okay?”

Astrid thinks a single blow could probably topple her at this point, but she shrugs. “I’m alive. You?”

Yasha smiles tightly. “Better now that everyone is okay.”

* * *

They don’t do much sleeping, after that. The woman-turned-turtle-turned woman-again is dispatched quickly and easily by Caduceus, after even his Zone of Truth fails to yield the truth from her. Through _Speak with Dead_ her body reveals she knew nothing of Trent's intentions at all, and did his bidding fueled by bloodlust alone.

The Nein head for the nearest town where they rent a room, with the intention of giving the clerics a space to heal their friends. Hopefully, the fact that it’s a crowded inn will keep anyone else from attacking them. Veth is the worst off, with an ugly burn wound across her right shoulder where the lightning struck, and Beauregard walks with an ugly limp. The two of them and Astrid herself subject themselves to Caduceus’ circle of healing, and then the group scatters to get a number of different things done. Caleb and Jester go shopping, Caduceus and Fjord keep an eye out downstairs, and the injured party members linger in the room.

“So, that was fucked up,” Beauregard says, sagging against the wall.

“No kidding,” Veth says to the ceiling, from where she is lying prone one of the beds.

“You dealt with them very quickly,” Astrid says. A peace offering.

“Yeah, we only _nearly_ died in the process.”

“That’s more than most can say.”

“They wouldn’t have attacked at all if it wasn’t for you.”

Those angry, angry blue eyes again. Astrid can’t stand them. “… I’m sorry. I did not mean for that to happen. I assumed I was hidden.” She draws out her amulet from underneath her shirt, and sees recognition flash in the other women’s eyes.

Beauregard’s expression softens minutely and her eyes move away at last. “Whatever.”

“They almost killed Astrid, too,” Yasha offers, from where she’s standing by the window. She’s cleaned the blood off of her arms and clothes, and without the sword in her hands Astrid must admit there’s something quite reassuring to having her in the room.

“I don’t know. I vote we toss Astrid out,” Veth says, but there’s no real intent in her raspy voice.

Silence follows, and Astrid thinks.

“Why haven’t you?” She asks, after a while.

Three pairs of eyes fall on her and Astrid shifts, uncomfortable with the attention.

“Caleb,” Yasha says, just as Beauregard begins with “’Cause of Caleb’s stupid bullshit –“.

Veth looks at them both, then back at Astrid, and says, “I guess we’ve come to believe in second chances.”

The words hang heavy in the air between them and Astrid lets them sink in, and begins to wonder –

“NOT that this is a proper second chance, not really, you have to _prove_ yourself first –“ Veth scrambles, just as Beau says, “she is _so not_ joining the group!”

“No, no, no! I’m just saying, we’re all a bit,” here, Veth pulls a face and makes a dubious gesture. “So we can’t just write you off. I mean, you're Caleb’s ex and you’ve been through some _real_ shit, so you have redeeming features.”

“Not that, like, your only value is being his ex, but he _is_ our friend and he still cares about you, so it helps,” Beauregard says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t think that was what you were implying,” Astrid lies.

“Right. Good.”

Another uncomfortable silence falls. It’s not much of an answer, really. Bren’s sentiment protects her, as does some sort of unfounded belief in Astrid’s ability to become something else. She wonders if she can. She wonders if she _wants_ to.

“Hey,” Beauregard’s voice cuts through the silence again. “You said you didn’t mind talking about your scars, right?”

Astrid blinks at the change in topic. “… If you’re that curious, no.”

“The burn scar on your neck. Was it him? Did he – did _Caleb_ –”

Of course. The only scar she regrets.

“If it helps you think better of him, he was watching his parents burn alive when he did it,” she says, as impassively as she can. The Ermendruds had been lovely, when Bren had introduced her as his girlfriend. Before that, too.

Beauregard sits up in her bed, wide-eyed and pale. “Fuck. Fuckity-fuck, no, that _doesn’t_ help, why would you even say that?”

“You asked. I answered.”

“Seven Hells. I want that Trent guy to die so badly.”

Silence. Yasha shifts uneasily, and Veth fluffs out a pillow so she can sit against the headboard of her bed. She's frowning, and there's pain lingering behind her eyes.

“What about your family?” Veth asks, keeping her voice soft.

In a way Astrid expected the question, but it still lances through her chest like a searing poker. She remembers the look on their faces as they died, the sounds they’d made – and above all, her own shameful relief that her little brother had been taken by fever four years earlier.

Perhaps feeling relieved is not the part she should have been ashamed of.

They must have seen something in her expression, because the other women exchange a few glances. “We… We’ve seen how Caleb struggles with it,” Veth says carefully. “I mean, I can only imagine, but… That must’ve been very difficult.”

“ _I’m_ the one who killed them.”

“Well, yeah,” Veth says uncertainly. “But…”

“But what?”

“Someone else made you do it,” Yasha says, her eyes distant.

“You were a kid, and Trent hurt you,” Beauregard says.

Astrid looks between the three women and thinks she sees something like compassion in their eyes. She stands up with jerky movements, strides over to the nearest sink, and throws up.

She doesn’t answer any of their other questions, that morning.

* * *

"You love them, don't you?" she asks Caleb later, when they have a moment alone. 

He doesn't answer out loud, but she knows him well enough to read the _yes_ in his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning notes: Mention of Trent torturing the Blumentrio. The Nein are ambushed during the night and a fight follows. It’s nothing too graphic, but a couple of characters are injured and blood is mentioned. The other trigger warning relates to Astrid, who vomits after a conversation triggers her anxiety and feelings of guilt. This chapter also implies one of the reasons behind her ambition is the loss of a sibling that could have been avoided with proper healthcare.
> 
> Further notes:  
> Assuming Astrid is roughly level 13-16 she’d have around 80-110 hp. That’s just enough to survive Disintegrate, if it’s the first attack. Lucky.  
> Sorry for making you wait.  
> Thank you for reading. Let me know if you like it! Each and every comment brings me joy <3


	6. Fjord, Caduceus

A S T R I D

Astrid doesn’t immediately notice Bren, is the thing. The Academy is overwhelming in so many ways to a young girl from dirt poor Blumenthal, that the gawky teenager in the back of the classroom doesn’t begin to compare. He’s charming in an awkward sort of way, but she has no time for charming boys when this is the best opportunity she’s ever going to have to escape a life in the dirt.

She takes notice when he starts impressing their teachers, though. She takes notice when he is called to the front of the class and asked to explain an arcane equation even she couldn’t crack. She takes notice when she sees the way their teachers’ eyes alight when he engages them in conversation. She takes notice of how blue his eyes are when they meet her own. She takes notice when, one day in class, the sun catches his hair and seems to set his whole figure on fire. In one afternoon, he becomes both the most infuriating and most interesting person she’s ever met.

Bren will be the spark that sets their whole generation aflame. She becomes as sure of this as she is of the fact that she alone can temper him.

Life has a way of surprising people, however.

* * *

Things begin to change, slowly but surely.

First: shortly after the fight, Caleb appears at Astrid’s side as they begin to walk. He stays there for an hour or so, silent but _there_ , unwavering. He no longer flinches when she looks at him, and his shoulders seem a little straighter. They talk about the weather, for a minute or two. It’s… Nice. She finds she wants him there. It’s a tiny piece of normal returned to her after many years.

As he grows more comfortable with her, some of his friends do too. Beauregards tongue remains sharp, but there's a new softness to her eyes sometimes. Caduceus retains his very specific brand of menacing politeness, but she suspects this treatment is not specific to her. The others…

One morning Jester makes a comment about Astrid’s hair that she doesn’t immediately realize is backhanded. Afterwards, Jester squirms and grimaces and, eventually, links her arm with Astrid’s and apologizes for a slight Astrid had barely felt. Jester’s arm feels strong and sturdy around her own. It’s the first time in a long time someone has touched her without any ulterior motive. The drawing Jester gave her seems to burn a hole in Astrid’s pocket.

Veth is almost pally with her, joking around and nudging her in the side. The latter startles her into flinching away, after which there’s an apology and something like protectiveness in the halfling’s eyes.

Astrid doesn’t feel quite accepted, but… She’s not as much of an outsider, either. To her surprise, she likes it.

Fjord sidles up beside her after Veth and Beauregard get into some sort of pointless athletic competition. Fjord and Astrid watch in companionable silence as the two women scale a cliffside with increasingly unbelievable acrobatics. When she turns to Fjord she sees a kindness to his eyes she had noticed before, but it’s the first time it’s aimed at her.

“You holding up okay? Your wounds, and everything?” He asks.

“I’m fine, thank you. Your group has talented healers.”

Fjord’s skill set is one she is less familiar with. A paladin, she thinks, but underneath that lies something darker. The Assembly has little to no information on the man other than his country of origin. It’s his charm that worries her, though. His voice is deep and soothing and he’s undeniably attractive. It makes sense, she thinks, that the others gravitate around him the way they do. He has a comforting presence, without the underlying judgment that Astrid has seen in Caduceus’ eyes. She _likes_ him, without meaning to. It’s the kind of power Bren used to have.

Fjord snorts and mutters something under his breath about only having one true healer, anyway, but he acknowledges her comment with a nod. “I’m glad. We’re not really used to walking around like this anymore. Usually, Caleb just zaps us from one place to the other. That, or we fly.”

“You…fly?”

“Yeah. Polymorph, y’know. Jester and Caleb are real good at it.”

How cumbersome. How… Wild. But then some part of Bren always had been. “So… Caleb provides you shelter for the night, and transports you during the day.”

“Suppose so, yeah. We’d be hard-pressed without him.”

Astrid inclines her head and thinks it through. This is not, she thinks reluctantly, Caleb’s only worth to the group. Fjord accepts his contributions as an afterthought. As if it would be perfectly fine if Caleb couldn’t do it. Perhaps it would be.

“I thought about becoming a wizard myself, for a little while,” Fjord offers unexpectedly, with a slightly apologetic air. “I wanted to go to the Academy, and everything. I had no idea what was really going on.”

“Not all students become scourgers,” Astrid offers. “Most don’t even know we exist.”

“I know, I know. It’s just weird, thinking about what might’ve been. What do you think you would’ve been, if not for the Academy?”

Astrid blinks. There it is; that relentless charm, and underneath it, sharp curiosity in those unusual eyes. Without meaning to, she considers his question. “A farmer, like my parents. Perhaps a guard. Someone’s wife. I don’t know.”

Fjord glances over to Caleb, some thirty feet ahead of them, before he returns his attention to her. “What did you _want_ to be, though? As opposed to what’s easy.”

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. It’s something I think about a lot, I suppose. What life would be like, if I made a different decision somewhere down the line.”

“Have you made decisions you regret?”

Fjord smiles wryly. “Haven’t we all?”

She returns his smile. Overhead, she hears the cry of an Osprey, calling out to its mate. She’d heard that sound every day, back home in the fields. She thinks of all the people she used to know, and the professions they had. She thinks of what she knows now.

“A teacher, perhaps. Or…” She trails off, uncertain.

Fjord’s smile widens and he raises one expressive eyebrow. “That’s just what Caleb said.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. Must be why you two got so close.”

“Maybe.”

“You think it was something else?”

“I think…” Astrid trails off, and remembers bright blue eyes alight with a thirst for knowledge. His eagerness, his earnestness. He had been honest. An open book. _That_ was what had appealed to her.

“I pissed off a demi-god, by the way,” Fjord offers, when the silence stretches for too long. “One of the things I regret most . Well-I don’t regret pissing him off. I regret indulging him in the first place.”

“You… pissed off a demi-god,” Astrid echoes, and mentally adjusts her view of the Mighty Nein from ‘wacky adventurers’ to ‘batshit insane’.

“Yep.”

“A _demi-god_.”

“Yep.”

“Do I want to know the story?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to hear about the time we accidentally became pirates?”

“...”

He just grins, in that wonderful devil-may-care way that all of the Nein seem to have.

“And did you hunt demigods, during your stint as pirates?” Astrid asks, not sure how the words coming out of her mouth are real, exactly.

“Not quite yet,” Fjord says, his smile fading, “but we will have to figure something out, one of these days. Sometimes, the past is best left behind. Other times, though, the past needs reckoning.”

The words hang heavily in the air between them, and she nods to acknowledge the entirety of his meaning. Not just his past, demigods and all. Hers, too. “Someday,” she agrees.

* * *

They reach Hupperdook after a week of travel, and Caleb buys his supplies. After that, the Nein go off to visit an old friend called Kiri, leaving Frumpkin, Caduceus and Astrid behind. Astrid sits in the room of the inn they’ve rented and fidgets, restless.

“You don’t much like waiting, do you?” Caduceus asks, from across the room. He’s absently petting Frumpkin, who’s rolled over onto his back and seems to be having the time of his life with those big, hairy firbolg fingers scratching his belly.

Astrid moves away from the window to sit on the bed opposite him. It takes effort to uncross her arms and move her hands to her lap to assume a more relaxed position. She carefully meets Caduceus’ large eyes, and realizes there’s no point in lying. “I’ve been waiting for very long time,” she says, truthfully. “At some point, enough is enough.”

“Is that why you tried killing Ikithon, instead of waiting for him to pass naturally? From what I understand, he’s getting older. It would’ve been less risky to wait.”

Astrid’s jaw clenches. “I’m not so sure it would’ve been.”

Caduceus tilts his head as his brow furrows. “Was he sending you out on dangerous missions? Like the scourger in Xhorhas?”

“Often enough,” Astrid says, “though not as often as he used to.”

“Hmm.” His frown deepens. “Will you help me understand it?”

“The scourger in Xhorhas… Is she dead?” Astrid asks, instead.

“I’m afraid so. She tried to kill Caleb, so she left us no choice. I take it you knew her?”

Hannah, Astrid thinks. Hannah, who was one of her most promising students. Hannah, who was twenty-three and had endured a lifetime of hardships. Hannah, in whose eyes Astrid had seen herself.

She does what she always does: she takes the feeling and places it behind the wall Ikithon built.

“A little,” she says. “Not very well.” How well do you know someone you have tormented with the purpose of strengthening them? Do you know the intricacies of their character when you have seen their suffering? When you were the only one they confided their insecurities to?

Caduceus hums thoughtfully. “You’re a very accomplished liar,” he says. “I barely caught that one.”

“And who are you, to see through people so easily?” Astrid snaps, intimidated and infuriated alike. “Who are you, to see what you see and serve it to people on a platter?”

He leans back, features shifting slowly, almost imperceptibly. Frumpkin looks up from his little slice of heaven when the hand on his belly pauses. “I specialize in mourning,” he says, after a moment. “When you’re used to seeing people at their worst, it’s easy to catch glimpses of their pain when they’re pretending to be at their best.”

“I’m _fine_.”

“You’re not,” he says gently, “and that’s okay. None of us are, really. We’ve all been through a lot. And right now, you’re worried Caleb is going to leave you behind.”

Her head snaps up. She supposes it’s not too difficult to make the connection. She’s nervous, fidgety. In an hour or so, Caleb will teleport her and the party to Nicodranas, where she will board a ship to Tal’Dorei. Where she will be alone, without purpose or safety.

“You love this country,” Caduceus says, “and you love him. As he loves you. That’s hard to leave behind, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes, love isn’t enough,” she says. To her disgust, her voice shakes.

“That’s true. Love can be corrupted and turn into something ugly. If you let it.”

“I didn’t let it. It just happened.”

He smiles sympathetically. “I know.”

She looks down at her hands and tries to remember how not to cry. There’s a crack in the wall. Something drops to the ground a few feet away from her, and the sound of purring reaches her ears as Frumpkin comes into view. He waves around her legs and jumps onto the bed to perch neatly in her lap. It’s the first time he has touched her, and it feels, strangely, like benediction. She carefully sinks the fingers of her good hand into his fur. His little body is warm underneath her touch. Caleb’s cat.

“Time apart can be good, you know,” Caduceus says. “Caleb is still healing, himself. Perhaps in a few years, you could be something better.”

Astrid mulls it over, slowly. She thinks of all the words Caleb’s friends have thrown at her, and thinks perhaps these have been the kindest.

“Don’t you think I am irredeemable?” She asks, softly.

“More interestingly, do you?”

Astrid’s fingers clench in Frumpkin’s fur. His purring grows even louder and he starts making biscuits on her thighs. His claws prickle at her skin but she doesn’t shoo him off. “You’re a peculiar bunch, you know,” she says, after a while. “All of you.”

Caduceus chuckles good-naturedly. “Oh, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun to write. We’re heading toward some sort of conclusion here, but if there is any particular dynamic you want to see feel free to tell me! Aside from Caleb and Astrid, because I have plans for them…
> 
> Do let me know if you enjoyed the story! It brightens my day:)


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